


now you do

by ninata



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Confessions, Daiya's Death Mentioned, First Kiss, M/M, Mild homophobic language? Yikes, Pre-Despair, Rated T for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4843943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mondo has a confession to make. Kiyotaka has a confession to make. Their relationship begins to change into something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. take one

**Author's Note:**

> this is an older work but i'm posting it because i forgot to. i have a few (i think) i want to upload here so you'll be seeing those along with some newer stuff! i'm such a busy bee. i need a job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mondo's guilt is too genuine. Kiyotaka wants to understand, to be someone Mondo can trust. He wants to be something more than that, even.

He lies on his back in the grass, dandelions sparse but surrounding the two of you nonetheless. You worry for the grass stains that are sure to sully your Hope’s Peak uniform, but a part of you thinks, _Isn’t this nice?_

“…Kyoudai?”

You turn your head at his word. He looks perturbed, eyes downcast and hands folded over his chest.

“Can I…talk to you about somethin’?”

“What about?”

“…S…S’about my brother.”

His hand reaches to his forehead, uncertain, violets blooming in his beautiful eyes. They focus into the sky, to the fluffy clouds that hover overhead and the brightness between them. Sunshine lights up his dark skin; the soft curves of his face, the slopes, the angles, the tip of his nose, the cupid’s bow of his lips.

“You can talk to me about anything,” Your words tiptoe, carefully broaching the subject that he’s always so sensitive about. “Go ahead.”

There’s a silence; for a moment, he looks pained. You wonder what it could be that’s hurting him so much, and you think it’s the secret he’s always kept from you. It was something you always knew was there; a terrible secret that he couldn’t tell anyone. You’ve always known he had it and you’d always wondered. It never occurred to you to ask. It’s probably better you didn’t. Everyone has things they’d rather not talk about; it’s not as if you don’t have things like that, either.

His lips part, words bubbling out like rising steam from a boiling pot of water.

“I killed him.”

The words don’t register right away. His long, mascara laden eyelashes droop onto his cheeks, a grimace forming on his features as soon as the dreaded words have left him.

“You…killed him?”

“Yeah. Murdered ‘em. S’my fault he’s dead.”

His words are heavy, yet empty. Hollow. Spoken with so little emotion, yet full of it. You stare at him, shocked, yet you find yourself unable to believe him at all.

“…Explain.” You prop yourself up on an elbow, turning your body towards him. “You aren’t making sense.”

“What don’tcha get?” His eyes remain closed. “I killed my brother. There ain’t anythin’ else to say about it.”

“Why? How?”

Mondo hesitates, eyes creaking open. “…Well…”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. His voice sounds out in a monotone, emotionless, detached.

“Back when he was about to graduate from high school…he was sayin’ he was gonna leave the gang to me. But a lot of guys from the gang— they didn’t think I was— they didn’t think I was strong enough for it, y’know? So a lot of people were thinkin’, well, what’s the point in bein’ in the gang if Daiya ain’t in it anymore?

"So…I was…scared. Yeah; scared, I guess. I didn’t wanna lose face cuz I was the dumb younger brother who was just gettin’ the gang cuz he was aniki’s family. I challenged him to a race, and I thought, y’know, if I beat ‘em, I’d’ve earned the gang, right?”

“Right.”

“But…when we were racin’, I…”

At this part he starts to get a little choked up. For a moment, you think he’s going to cry— but he presses on. You wish you could hold his hand.

“I…s-started drivin’ on the wrong side of the road, tryin’ to go faster, cuz he was winnin’, and…y’know, this, uh, this uh…this t-truck came barrelin’ down towards me, but Daiya, aniki, he slammed his bike into mine, and…”

There’s a clear look of agony on his features. Your brow furrows. “Mondo…”

“S’all my fault,” The heels of his palms press into his eyes. “I-If I hadn’t been so stupid…i-if I hadn’t been goin’ so fast, if I wasn’t on the wrong side of th’road…”

At the very least, he is not a murderer.

You aren’t very good with things like this. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to overflow. After some deliberation, you finally reach out and pull him into a hug.

It’s a weird position, lying in the grass, but it’s intimate and, hopefully, comforting. You can hear how shaky his breathing is, and it hits you how fragile he is.

He puts on such a front all the time. He acts tough, he yells at people and starts fights and sneers and curses. He’s gone through his entire life like that— strong, stronger than anyone.

But he isn’t that strong.

He’s very afraid. And he’s just as vulnerable as any person, if not more. Having to be strong, never getting to show how upset you are…

It’s not something you can relate to, but you understand it.

“I…lied about it to th’gang. I told ‘em…that Daiya’d been the one drivin’ like an idiot.” His hand grasps at the shoulder of your suit jacket. “They all believed me. Jus’ like that. Even though he’d been such a great guy…they believed me, me sayin’ he was gonna lose t’me…Fuckin’ dirtyin’ up his name like that…W-When he’d just _died_ …” A small sound like a sob. He holds on a little tighter. You can’t tell if he’s crying, but all you know is you never want to let him go.

“…Kyoudai. You’re no murderer, nor anything of that sort.” You say firmly. “How could you say that’s your fault? It was an accident. It’s not as if you pushed him into the oncoming truck.”

“But it _is_ my fault. I might as well have… I…I-I always do this shit. I always hurt people, always.” Petals begin to fall from his exterior, revealing a sensitive center. “I always fuckin’ hurt people! Every goddamn time! I scare people off a-and I mess up and hurt the p-people I care about! The fuck is _wrong_ with me!?”

"You haven’t hurt me—”

“We’ve fought before, dammit! And…e-even if you don’t count that, how do ya know I won’t do it some other time?! What if…what if I kill you, huh?!” He pulls back, eyes squeezed shut. “What if I hurt you?! You’re my best goddamn friend, and I could…I could fuck you up so badly! Aren’t you scared of me?! I’ve hurt so many goddamn people, I’ve KILLED someone, you gotta be scared of me—”

“Are you joking?” Your hands remain on him, resting on his shoulders. “You don’t think I could fight back? Like you said, we’ve fought before. I can do more than hold my own. If you tried to hurt me, I’d easily defend myself. You’re one of the most harmless people I know.”

That seems to shut him up for a second, but he gains steam again. “I’m stronger than you. I could still hurt you bad. I could hurt anyone. Fujisaki…Kuwata…Naegi…” He scoffs. “It’d be no problem. They can’t fight back like you can.”

“…Mondo.”

“And you know what? Sometimes, sometimes— I’m GLAD he’s dead, y’know? That I got the gang, that I ain’t got anyone raggin’ on me. I’m better off on my own.”

“That’s a lie.”

“He was _weak_. An’ _I’m_ strong. He could’ve just let me die, but he had to push me out of the way. Weak! He’s fuckin’ _WEAK!_ And it’s— it’s my— it’s all my fault—”

Your palm makes contact with his cheek, slapping him straight across the face.

“W-Whuh—”

“Mondo, you’re talking like an idiot.” You stare deep into his eyes. Widened, uncertain— scared. They’re watery, tears slipping down his cheeks, and you don’t feel like crying yourself anymore. You want to be strong for him despite how much it hurts you to see him like this. “It’s not your fault. And you wouldn’t hurt anyone. If you did, I’d snap you out of it.” Your fingers dig into the fabric of his blazer. “You don’t mean any of that. If you were glad your brother was dead, you wouldn’t be like this. And you couldn’t get along on your own. You’d get terribly lonely.”

He opens his mouth in protest, but you stop him.

“And furthermore, I could care less about how ‘scary’ you are. I know you better than that. You’re about as scary as a teddy bear! For all the time I’ve known you, you’ve been kind, friendly, considerate…you’re making yourself out to be some kind of monster.” His shoulders tense. “You’re nothing like that. You’ve made mistakes, just as anyone else has, but that won’t stop me from being your friend.”

He’s silent. You can hear the grass moving, the distant sounds of bicycles and water, people’s voices. It’s all so distant— all there is is the two of you, and you wish it was like this more often. You 'hang out' together, do all the things it appears friends do— yet it's never been enough.

He’s so close— so wonderfully close. You can hear his breathing, smell the gasoline; you could do anything at that moment. Your foggy world could be his. At this moment, surely, in any movie, this would be the moment when you kiss the girl. Her lips will be soft, she’ll grasp weakly to the front of your jacket and it will all be magical. But she is a boy, a young man who’s taller and bigger than you, who’d push you away and run far far away and you’d never catch him.

“…Why…do you care so much?” He asks quietly. “Why’re you sayin’ all this? Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

The words come naturally. A part of you wishes you could have stopped them, but at the same time, you bottled them up for long enough. A year, even. School days spent arguing, talking, studying, watching movies together and eating junk food and becoming friends— the truest friend you could ask for, and you—

“Because I love you.”

And it’s true.

You’ve never felt like this ever before in your life. Not even once. It’s not the same as the respect you showed your parents, nor the infatuation with success, no relationship could ever compare. Your genuine feelings are written into your DNA, coded with anything else; your love is oceans and miles and mountains. Your love is the sunset, the sunrise, the dusk— the time of night when it’s so dark, it’s almost bright. Your love is waking up in the morning and going to classes and seeing him, his stupid hair and his thick eyeliner and crooked grin. The fog that hangs around your ankles, the mechanical whirring from beyond the walls of Hope’s Peak, the squirming feeling in your veins...It all goes away. One touch from his rough hands, one smile, one bark of laughter, and it all melts away. You adore him— you respect him— you revere him— you care about him— you want to be with him— you NEED him— you love him.

His face floods with color. He stammers, pulling back further. You wish he didn’t.

“Y-You— what’re you sayin’?!” He reaches a hand up to his hair, twisting a free lock of dark brown around his fingers. “S-Sometimes I don’t think you even know what you’re sayin’.”

“I’m saying I love you.” You try to regain eye contact, but he won’t meet your eyes. “What’s hard to understand about that?”

“Stop sayin’ that! You don’t…You don’t really mean you…”

“I do.” You assert.

“…W-What kinda love are we talking about here?!”

“Why does that matter?”

“Why do you think it matters?!”

You furrow your brow. “I just mean I love you. I love being around you. You’re important to me. More than anyone else.”

His face is bright red. He puts it in his hands.

“M-More than anyone else…?”

“Yes.”

“…You’re crazy.”

“Maybe.”

“…Can you just tell me in what kinda way you’re sayin’ you like me?”

“I’m not saying I like you, I’m saying I love you.”

“Stop! Sayin’ that!”

“No.”

His hands shoot forward, startling you. He grabs your face and pulls on your cheeks, drawing them apart.

“O-Ow! Kyoudai—”

“You’re gonna drive me nuts, asshole!” He smushes them together. “Just…t-tell me, dammit! Or else!”

“Or else what?!”

At that moment, he puts you in a headlock, and drives his knuckles into your scalp. You squirm, trying to push him away.

Objectively, this is uncomfortable and strange. But in another way…this is Mondo. This is what he always does. He’s so…odd. Odder than anyone. Moments like these are why you love him— when he doesn’t worry about his strength or anything. He treats you like an equal.

You love him so much, it actually physically hurts. It wrenches up your chest, it twists and contorts and curls and you can’t put words into it. This unending devotion, like you could spend the rest of your life with him, easily. Like you know those feelings could never change. The way he smiles, the way he yells. His hands, his lips, his ears, his thighs, his toes. All the times you watched him dig into a cake, grinning like he was the luckiest person on the planet. Watched him pet dogs, eyes lighting up and ruffling their soft fur. Gentle hands, hands that couldn’t possibly hurt another person. There’s a mole on his right shoulder, he freezes up when he gets scared, his hair is curly and coarse and you can’t explain, you can’t even begin to explain this horrible, terrible feeling. Your heart swells, it brings you to tears, it’s all too much to handle and it makes you feel so strange, how you could love a person this much, want to make them happy, want to know them more than anyone else and hold their big, dumb hands and fall asleep next to them, even if they snore. He’s— he’s so wonderful, beyond your own understanding. He accepted you, he showed you kindness you’d never known.

This world is very unfair. But finally, finally it gave you the fortune to meet him. To know him. To know his worst secret.

You find yourself clinging to him while he makes a choking noise. Your face buries into his neck, arms wrapped around his middle. You sigh against his skin, he shudders and attempts to pry you off.

“S-Stop— Whaddaya think yer— C-C-CUT IT OUT, DAMMIT! OFFA ME!! STOP HUGGIN’ ME! STOP IT!!! STOP!!!!!”

“No.”

“LEGGO!!!”

“No.”

“GOD _DAMMIT_ , KIYOTAKA—”

"I love you.”

He shudders again, his attempts to pull the two of you apart growing weaker.

“…Wh…Why?” He asks, in a voice so quiet, you’re not even sure it’s directed at you. You answer regardless.

“Because I do. I always will, no matter what.”

“A-A-Always…?”

“Always.”

“W-W-WHADDAYA EVEN MEAN, ALWAYS?! THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYIN’?! FUCKIN’— PUNKASS PIECE OF—”

“It doesn’t matter.” You hold him a little tighter. “Your brother would forgive you. Just like I do. He loves you too. I know it.”

“M— M-My brother—”

“Mondo, I care about you.” You wish you were closer. “…If I told you how I love you…would you consider accepting my feelings?”

“A-ACCEPTIN’— Y-Y-YOUR FEELIN’S—”

You wonder if people can hear him yelling. “I love you in every way. Like a friend, like a brother…like a lover—”

“A-A-A-A-A LOVER?!”

“…Would you ever…reciprocate that?”

Ah. Until you had said those words, you weren’t even worried. But now paranoia grips you tightly. What if he says no? What if he pushes you away? What if he denies it all, what if the friendship ends? What if you _lose_ him?

Your stomach flips. You suddenly feel sick. He could say no. He could kick you out of his life. He could beat the shit out of you for loving him. Boys…shouldn’t love boys. You’re afraid…very, very afraid.

But his shaking hands clutch at your back. He hugs you like you hug him.

“I…”

He doesn’t seem capable of speech.

“…You don’t have to answer it now.” You pull back a bit, but his grip keeps you near him. “Take your time.”

He’s blushing incredibly hard. Still. It’s…it’s adorable. He nods, his eyes shut tightly.

“…Should we go home?”

“…Yeah.” He manages to force out words. “That’d…be good.”

He lets go. You sit up, stretching as he straightens up himself. You’re on your feet in a few moments, offering a hand and helping him to his own.

Your hand lingers longer. He notices, and tugs his away.

“…R-Right. Let’s go.”

You smile. Not because you’re happy, but because you have hope. You have hope he’ll love you back.

One day.


	2. take two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiyotaka's smiles are too honest. More honest than Mondo could ever be. Mondo longs for something he can't describe.

Nerves get to the best of you. Hands sweat, wiping palms on your pants whenever he comes near you.

His hands linger too long. Not long enough. Confusing, conflicting thoughts pervade your senses when he’s around. If it could only be more simple, if only he was a girl— if YOU were a girl— if only you could understand, if only you could reciprocate—

The day spent in the sun and the grass was weeks ago, and if there was one word you could use to describe your current relationship with Kiyotaka Ishimaru, it would be awkward. Hands brush, pulled back with shouts of “SORRY!” and blood rushing to your face and bolting out of classrooms and away from lockers and sitting in the foyer of Hope’s Peak Academy, head hanging low and hands digging into your hair. You’re an idiot, you really are. You haven’t even answered him yet. You wonder if he’s waiting for it. He looks so sad, smiling in a way that isn’t at all happy.

What do you feel? Sometimes you don’t even know. Most of the time you don’t know. In fact, you don’t know at all. None of the time. Not even sometimes! You have no fucking clue. He makes you too fucking happy, you blush too much, you stammer and you draw hearts in your notebooks and you snap your fucking pencil in half and throw your notebook across your tiny bedroom in your tiny ass apartment that you share with your ever absent mother and you beat the shit out of your pillow and you lie face down on your bed and seethe. It’s hard to explain. You aren’t, for starters, gay. Ever. No way! Not a chance. You like chicks. You dig girls. Cute girls. With cute school uniforms or cute clothes and curly hair and bows and frills. Girls! Right? Girls! Not boys. Not… _Kiyotaka_.

Even though he is very handsome. You can say that, right? He is. He’s got a pointy nose that turns up just a little. He has thick, angry eyebrows, a stupid gap between his big front teeth, thin lips and big bags under his eyes. Small ears and long fingers, big calves and he’s got, like, washboard abs, big strong arms and broad shoulders and toned muscles and, and, okay, maybe, you’re getting, a little too into explaining why he’s attractive, but the point, is, the point _is_ —

You tried talking about it to Leon. He didn’t fucking get it. He kept trying to ask who the “girl” was— said, “Dude, if you can fuck her, go for it. Even if you ain’t sure you really like her. Just go for it.” _(Yeah, shut the fuck up, Leon. You couldn’t get a girl if you tried. We all know you're a fucking sap, anyway.)_

Regardless. Didn’t work. He didn’t get you had no idea if your feelings were just fucked up or what. If they were romantic or idealistic or realistic or platonic or sexual or what-the-fuck-ever.

You tried talking to Chihiro too.

“So…y-you like this ‘girl’?”

“Put those hand quotations away, what the fuck are those for?!”

“W-Well…uh…I mean, you don’t really…”

“I don’t really what?!”

“N-Nevermind! Anyway, uh…t-tell me more about hi— her.”

You had paused, running your tongue over your teeth and trying to think of a way to describe it.

“She…makes me…happy. Not like anyone else. I just…wanna make ‘er smile. All the time. She’s so sad…like, a lot! She pretends she ain’t, she smiles and overreacts to things and acts like an idiot, but…she’s so fuckin’ sad, y’know? She is. I— I don’t know what I feel. I don’t. She…told me she loved me, y’know? And I just. Froze up. What am I supposed to say to that shit? ‘Okay’? She just…makes me so confused! I don’t know if I wanna punch ‘er or hold ‘er hand! And the idea of bein’ with her…s’just…weird!”

Chihiro looked pensive. Then he looked you dead in the eye and said it.

“It’s Ishimaru-kun, isn’t it?”

Your jaw dropped. You stormed out of the room before he got a chance to say anything more.

So that didn’t help. Like, at all. You were left without options, and debated just riding your motorcycle far away and assuming a different name and pretending none of this was happening.

You avoided him, sometimes. You’d talk to him in class, you’d be fine if there were other people around— but for some reason, being alone with him made you feel queasy. You hadn’t studied together for a while. Hadn’t thrown popcorn at each other while watching a shitty documentary, hadn’t rode around on your motorcycle, hadn’t talked to him about your ever frequent nightmares or even just listened to him drone on about some random political bullshit.

You missed it. But you were too scared to try and get it back.

You’re on the verge of overflow, like a boiling pot. Your hands are always cold. You watch him when he leaves the classroom, when you see him in the halls. It’s impossible to feel the way you do. You don’t even understand it! You wish you did. You wish you could just give him a fuckin’ answer. Then things would go back to normal. Or…maybe they wouldn’t.

It hurts your head.

“Kyoudai!”

You’re by your shoe locker when you hear him. He’s speedwalking at you, and you try to grab your shoes and pull them on quick enough so you can make your escape. Your bag falls over, you rush to pick it up and he grabs you by your wrist before you can sprint off.

“Kyoudai! Did you not hear me?” He smiles, and your heart thumps in your throat. You want to wrench your arm away— you have time— but do you really want to directly ignore him when he’s trying to be friendly? You’re not trying to be an asshole to him, you’re just— you’re just— scared—

“I was wondering if you wanted to study together tonight! It feels like it’s been a while, and I know you have a test coming up in Algebra 2. I reviewed the material last night, so I can definitely help you!”

You want to make an excuse, but it doesn’t look like you can get out of it, this time. You might as well accept your fate of an awkward study session, alone with him, in a dimly lit room, and his hands really close to yours, and—

The two of you ride to your apartment on your motorcycle, and you’re painfully aware of his body flush against yours, his arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder. You’re almost unable to focus on driving, embarrassment and anxiety welling up and at _least_ the drive is short, at least you live nearby Hope’s Peak Academy. You park your motorcycle, and his arms remain around you.

“…C-Can you…can you, uh…c-C-CAN YOU LET GO NOW?”

“Why are you yelling?”

“J-JUST LET GO, ALREADY!”

“I don’t understand the problem.”

“LEGGO!”

He chuckles, releasing you. You feel your cheeks burning. Your loafers scuff against the sidewalk and he marches after you, grinning from ear to ear. It’s like the fucker knows exactly what he’s doing, making you feel…feel… _weird_. And he’s just lapping it all up like Celes's adorable fatass cat with a bowl of cream or somethin’. Smug bastard.

You check your apartment’s mailbox when you walk inside the building. He stands behind you, you know he’s there, you’re pulling out the mail and stuffing your key back into your pocket.

“Mondo?”

“What is it?” You catch the attention of the person behind the desk inside the lobby and they buzz you in, door unlocking. You’re about to go inside when he says it in the most goddamn casual voice.

“Do you want to hold hands?”

You freeze, the door handle in your hand. You can feel the heat rising in your face, and you whirl around, keeping the door propped open with your foot, as you scream at him(as eloquent as you always are).

“NO! FUCK NO! W-WHAT THE— WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT—”

“Ah, I just wanted to ask. Don’t worry about it.”

“DON’T _WORRY_ ABOUT IT!? YOU— YOU FUCKIN’— YOU JUST—”

"Calm down! You’re going to scare them.” He motions towards the person behind the desk, who sports a very confused expression. “Come now, let’s get to your apartment, yes?”

You grumble angrily as you hold the door open for him. He reaches the elevators first, punching the up button before you can. There’s a short silence while you wait for the elevator to come.

“…I just thought it might be nice.” He says, looking down at his knees and shuffling a little. There’s just a slight tint of pink on his cheeks, and your heart leaps into your throat.

Just looking at him like that makes your heart beat a mile a minute. That soft, sad smile, his eyebrows turned upwards a bit, the way his fingers pick at each other. He’s…he’s embarrassed? That’s the only possible explanation. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen him embarrassed. Maybe when he walked into the girl’s locker room once (by accident), but really, he didn’t blush or anything. He just cried like an idiot and apologized profusely. You’ve never seen him blush. It’s so…so…

 _Cute_.

The elevator dings, and he walks forward. You don’t register it for a second, and then you rush in after him once you notice the doors are about to close. Are you sweating? Your throat feels like it’s closing up. You're probably having an allergic reaction. An allergic reaction to your best friend. You lean against one of the walls of the elevator, watching him out of the corner of your eye. He stands in front of the doors, straight as a rod.

It makes you confused, because he’s still the same as always. But he told you…he told you he loved you. You don’t know if anyone’s ever loved you. Y'know, in, like. A romantic way. No one's ever confessed to you before... Man, that’s kind of depressing to think about. But he…he did. He does? He loves you. He cares about you. Even though you’re a murderer, even though you’re…horrible, really. Violent and rude. Nasty. Yeah, you’ve got a lot of great qualities too, but…there are a lot of glaring flaws in you. You’re not the kinda guy to get down on himself— but when you think about it, what can you say? But even then…he…

He…loves you?

The elevator dings once more, and the doors open. He steps out, and you wander after him.

He loves you. He hugged you, and you— you wanted to hug him too. You wanted more than that. You want everything.

Is…that romantic? Do you want to date him? A boy? Do you seriously want to date a boy? Or is this just because you’re a desperate piece of shit and this is the first person who ever expressed romantic feelings for you? Are you just an idiot? What the fuck do you _**feel** **?!**_ As per usual, you're left more angry and confused after thinking about it than before.

You’re at your apartment’s door, sliding the key into the lock and turning it to the right, a click, you push it open and he follows in after you.

You realize you’ve been silent. Normally the two of you are talking animatedly about something, punching each other, pulling him into a headlock and rubbing your fist against his scalp while he tries to push you off.

It just feels…so weird, now. You want to touch him. Your heart pumps hard, a strained feeling in your chest. Your mouth feels dry. You want to be close to him. You want to hold him. You want to be held by him.

Are those feelings wrong? What do they even mean?

“…Mondo?”

You jump— you really hadn’t been paying attention. He’s in the doorway to your room, his boots already off, looking at you with a sad expression.

“Are…you coming?”

“H-Huh? Yeah, yeah! O-O’course, totally, yeah—”

You slip off your shoes and hustle inside, your cramped quarters a little hard to navigate in, especially with the clutter on the floors. Kiyotaka tiptoes around dirty laundry, nose wrinkled. You plop into the cheap wooden chair in front of your desk, opting to give him the nicer (but still pretty cheap) rolling chair. He sits down, posture perfect, if not for the tilt of his head downwards. A melancholy look graces his features.

“Kyoudai…”

“Yeah?”

“…I…wanted to ask you something before we started studying.”

Your heart picks up the pace. “Whassit? Go ahead.”

“…Are you afraid of me?”

The question takes you off guard.

Are you? Not really. Sort of. Okay, maybe a lot. But not because he’s scary. Because his feelings are scary.

“I…I…" He swallows. "I shouldn’t have told you.”

“T-Told me what?”

“That I loved you.”

Those words have weight. He looks absolutely miserable at that moment, his brows drawn together, his eyes squinted and watery. He’s…upset? He looks upset. Oh man. Oh man, he’s really upset. Your heart cringes. It’s actually painful to see how sad he is. You’ve seen him upset over a hundred times, but it still hurts. Maybe even more, because you know it’s because of you— that you hurt him, you’re still hurting him. You can’t answer him— you can’t accept his feelings. You just can’t. You’re not gay, you’re not that desperate, he’s your best friend, and— and—

“I-I’m sorry,” He chokes, and the tears begin to fall. “It was…foolish. I wasn’t thinking of your feelings. T-That you…you would get uncomfortable…that _I’d_ make you uncomfortable.”

"Hey—” You want your hands to move, but they remain heavy in your lap. You want to wipe away his tears. But you can’t.

“A-And now…you must not even want to be my friend.” His head dips into his hands, scabbed, pale fingers with red splotches. His voice quakes, making the whole room ring with a quiet hum. “You m-must be disgusted with me. We are both b-boys, after all.” His teeth grit.

“N-No— No, no, look, listen, listen—” Your words fumble, clumsy syllables and intonations tripping. “I ain’t disgusted with no one! You’re my best friend, dammit! I’d never be pissed at ya over somethin’ like that! You’re more important t'me than that!”

“…Then why..?”

“Why what?”

“Why have you been avoiding me? W-Why won’t you look me in the eye?”

“I…I’unno!”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Look, I— I don’t— I don’t know, okay?!”

“Am I…Am I that pathetic?”

“No! No, o’course not—”

“D-Do you hate me?”

“No way! Not in a million years!”

He huffs, wiping his eyes.

“Then…what is it? Why can’t you answer?!”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You feel your heart racing, your face flooding with color. Everything is just impossible at that moment. You want to say everything, you want to spill it all and expose all those disgusting feelings to him. You want to figure it out, you want to let him know even though you’re terrified, even though you don’t know how to put it into words, you want to work with him, at least.

“…Mondo?”

He’s so close to you. Yet...it’s still never close enough. Over the past year, he’s been the truest friend you’ve ever had. Even when you told him you were a murderer, that you fucking murdered your own goddamn brother, he responded with love, with acceptance. He’s so nice. He’s so stupid. He’s so fucking stupid, the way he smiles and yells and cries and every bit of him, every part of him is stupid, from his eyebrows to his short nails.

“Mondo.”

You just want him to hold you again. It’s so stupid. So fucking stupid. You want to be close to him. You want to know his feelings. You want to be used to them. You want him to love you. It’s scary, it’s so scary, but you need it. No one’s ever treated you like you were fragile before. No one’s ever been equal to you before. And still, you’re scared of even more. What you said back then still stands— what if you seriously hurt him? What would you do with yourself? How could you ever hope for him to forgive you? Would he? Would he really fight back? You don't know. Maybe you're too attached to him. This is why people can't be nice to you, you'll get a big fat crush on them and you won't know if it's because you're serious or because you're an idiot.

It’s all so confusing. It’s way too confusing. You don’t know what to say anymore.

That’s the point where he kisses you.

It comes completely out of nowhere. Suddenly one hand is on yours, and the other cups your cheek, and his lips meet yours. It’s soft, chaste, and also, wow! Your first kiss.

Your eyes are wide open. You feel an insane rush, butterflies, bubbling up and boiling over. It’s an overpowering feeling, your hands shake, try to weakly push away one of his and instead he laces your fingers together. It’s impossible to escape. He’s got you sussed, completely in the palm of his hand.

When he pulls away, you just stare at him and gape. What…what the fuck are you supposed to do?

“W…Wh…”

His face is red. He looks away.

“W-W-WHY DIDJA DO THAT?!!? WHAT THE FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK!?!? W-WHY!?!? WHY D-DIDJA— WHY— K-K-KISS— MY F-FIRST—”

“…Mine too.” He says quietly.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!!! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, C-COMIN’ INTO MY ROOM, FUCKIN’, K-KISSIN’ ME, I— mmph.”

He kisses you again. It’s like static shocks all throughout your body, your spine tingling, tremors and chills and you push him off this time, gasping for breath, about ready to deck him across the face, but he kisses you once more. What a fucking surprise. This time he grabs you by the front of your jacket and tugs you in close, kissing you with force, but definitely not BY force. Because now you’re reciprocating eagerly, leaning into him and cradling his jaw in your hands. Wait— what the _**fuck** _ are you doing?! Why are you kissing him?! Fuck you, you say to your mind, mentally flipping yourself the finger and melding your lips with his.

Unfortunately, you are large. He is also pretty large. The two of you go tumbling to the floor, one of the chairs hooked onto your leg and toppling over with you. But you can’t stop kissing him, now. It’s like, crazy. He’s got his arms locked around your waist and you’re kissing him, fucking kissing your best friend, on the MOUTH, kissing him a whole damn lot, running your hands through his stupid hair. The confusion melts away, all you feel is this weird, burning need for him, like you’ve just crossed a line you weren’t supposed to cross, and now you’ve got the hots for a dude, and you kinda wanna kiss him a whole lot all the time maybe forever.

“—Mon— mph. Mond— mmmph. Mo— Mondo—” He’s trying to talk, but you keep cutting him off. You just want to kiss him. So badly. Holy shit, how thirsty are you? “Mondo— w-we should— probably— stop—”

“Let’s go on a date,” You say quickly, lifting your head a little ways away from him.

“…What?”

“A date! Let’s go on a date!”

“A…I…what?”

“A date, dammit! We’re gonna go on one! Right now!”

“W-Why?! We— we need to study—”

“Nope, too bad. Date. Right now. We’re gonna go on a date.”

He looks absolutely baffled.

“…Why are you acting so strangely?”

“B-Because— you’re my first kiss! Take some goddamn responsibility!”

“I didn’t realize kissing you would mean putting off studying.”

“What didja think it was gonna do?!”

He pauses. “I’m not sure. You just looked like you wanted me to kiss you.”

“Well, I didn’t!”

“Then why did you kiss me back?”

“Buh— B-Because—”

“Mondo,” He catches your gaze, burning red eyes staring directly into yours. “…Okay. Let’s go on a date.”

“W-Wait, really?!”

“Yes. Why not? We can study afterwards.”

“Good! Right. Sure.”

“…Mondo?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

You duck your head down. Why the fuck did he need to say that!? If your face could get any redder, you’d be a tomato.

“…Do you love me?”

“D-Don’t ask me that!”

Another short pause.

“Could you learn to love me?”

Those words are like venom in your system. You can’t even speak. You can’t even form coherent sentences.

So you nod a little, pompadour hitting his hair. He laughs a little. Then a little more. He’s full out busting his gut, but not because he thinks it’s funny, you think. Because he’s happy.

He kisses you. You linger longer than you need to, and he bumps your noses together.

“So…a date it is.”


End file.
